


Singing in the Shower

by brookebond



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Eames isn't that sneaky, M/M, Singing in the Shower
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-24 11:11:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13212537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brookebond/pseuds/brookebond
Summary: Arthur sings in the shower. Eames is intrigued.





	Singing in the Shower

**Author's Note:**

> I got super nostalgic for music I listened to as a kid and I am not embarrassed by this, but I used to love Backstreet Boys. So, in this world, Arthur does as well.  
> Written for my first ficversary in the Inception fandom. You might be able to tell that I was a bit of a nerd and decided to make this fic 2018 words long because it’s New Year’s Eve for me down in little old New Zealand. I wanted to celebrate going into the new year in style, much like I did last year.  
> Enjoy!

Eames had forgotten what the luxury of a hotel was like. It had been three years since the last time he’d stayed in one so he was making the most of it this time. After all, he had no idea when he would next get the opportunity.

“Don’t knock on this door,” Arthur said, leaning against the frame. His tie was askew, top button undone, and a single curl drooping over his forehead. Eames wanted to reach out and push his fingers through Arthur’s hair to see if he could make more curls come loose.

“Won’t even think about it,” Eames replied, flashing a grin he hoped didn’t reveal his true thoughts.

Arthur hummed, clearly resisting the urge to roll his eyes, and gave Eames one last look before closing the door and locking it.

It had taken Eames longer than he cared to admit to figure out why Arthur had gotten connecting rooms. But it had made a lot of sense; they could avoid being seen in the hall this way. Eames was willing to offer Arthur a significant amount of credit for thinking of it. Though, there was very little chance of him actually doing so.

Eames shook his head and shuffled to the minibar, happy to see it fully stocked. He wasn’t picky by any definition of the word and pulled out the first bottle he could grab. Vodka. It would suffice.

He was sitting down, drink in hand, watching the sky turn a gorgeous shade of pink when he heard a voice. It was faint, muffled, but somehow Eames could distinctly make out who it was.

Arthur.

It sounded as though he was angry, frustrated with someone, and Eames couldn’t help himself.

He stood, leaving his drink but grabbing an empty glass, and crept to the door. He pressed the glass to the paneling, resting his ear against the bottom of it.

_ ‘ _ _ See, I don't know why I liked you so much. I gave you all, of my trust. I told you, I loved you, now that's all down the drain. You put me through pain, I want to let you know how I feel.’ _

Eames stepped back from the door, embarrassed with himself for overhearing something so intimate. He quickly set the glass down and grabbed his drink, taking it to the bed. It was the largest he’d ever seen—something called a California King—and he had no idea how he was supposed to sleep there. He was used to tiny, cramped spaces that left him aching for the next month.

He swallowed the glass of vodka in one go, wincing as it burned the whole way down, and stripped until he was in just his pants. He hoped the alcohol would help him forget what he had overheard but he wasn’t holding his breath.

—

“It’s too big,” Eames grumbled from where he was curled up in the armchair.

Arthur snickered, keeping his gaze locked on the laptop.

“What?” It wasn’t like Arthur to giggle and keep the joke to himself. They’d developed enough of a rapport to joke harmlessly enough with each other. Though, Eames had figured out fairly quickly that Arthur had hard limits when it came to Eames and, while the jokes were usually alright, if they involved touching of any kind, Eames would end up flat on his arse.

“That’s what he said,” Arthur murmured.

If Eames had been drinking anything, he was certain he would have done a spit take, an honest to goodness spit take. He couldn’t possibly have heard correctly. Arthur would never insinuate… Arthur wasn’t…

“I think that’s enough for today,” Arthur said, breaking through Eames’ half-formed thoughts.

“But we haven’t discussed surveillance yet,” Eames said, stumbling out of the armchair as Arthur gracefully left his, packing his things up with precision.

“By all means, Eames. Keep working if you want. I’m going to have a shower and sleep. It’s three in the morning.” Arthur picked up the few things he’d brought with him and spared a single nod at Eames before walking to the door that connected their rooms. “Goodnight, Mr Eames.”

Arthur was locking the connecting door before Eames could get another word in, leaving Eames standing in the centre of the room feeling like a right twat. He hadn’t even noticed the time, had barely paid it any attention while Arthur had been there. Something about Arthur made him ignore everything else. It wasn’t conducive to getting work done, not in the slightest.

Eames sighed, ready to throw himself into bed fully clothed even though the bed itself terrified him. It was huge, too big for him alone and it made sleeping near impossible. The space was too much, too overwhelming. Eames was used to close quarters, fitting into small rooms that barely left room for fresh oxygen. He seriously contemplated taking the blankets off the bed and making a small nest in the closet but his thoughts were interrupted by Arthur again.

Eames thought the door was open but Arthur had locked it on his way out. He spun, eyes landing on the French doors leading to the shared balcony.

He knew it was a violation of privacy but Eames was intrigued. After the previous night, he wanted to know more about Arthur and his mysterious partner. After the comment earlier, Eames needed to know which way Arthur’s interests lay.

The night air was brisk, the wind biting into him without a jacket, but he wasn’t going to be out there long enough to risk anything, not even a sniffle. Before he got far, Eames could hear Arthur, could figure that Arthur wasn’t on the phone to anyone. He was in the shower, though, and he was singing.

_ ‘ _ _ Tell me why. Ain't nothin' but a heartache. Tell me why. Ain't nothin' but a mistake. Tell me why. I never wanna hear you say. I want it that way _ _.’ _

The words tugged at the back of his mind, reminding Eames of something he couldn’t put his finger on. It was infuriating but, rather than get caught snooping by Arthur when the shower turned off, Eames snuck back to his own room and threw himself into bed, ignoring the excess space completely.

Eames fell asleep to thoughts of Arthur’s melodic voice.

—

Even though Eames knew Arthur wouldn’t appreciate being called out on his shower time ritual, Eames knew he couldn’t leave it alone. It was stupid, begging for a bullet in the brain, but Eames had never once claimed to be a genius.

“Buggering fuck,” he muttered as he picked the lock on the connecting door.

Arthur had left Eames earlier than usual, claiming he was exhausted. Eames knew it wasn’t fair to assume Arthur had escaped because of Eames’ earlier remark on his relationship history, but a part of him wanted it to be the reason. He wanted to know that he got under Arthur’s skin as much as Arthur got under his. Eames wanted to know that there was something more than just what he was imagining. It didn’t seem like too much to ask. Not really.

Finally, the lock clicked and Eames eased the door open slowly in case Arthur was waiting for him on the other side. Eames hadn’t exactly been stealthy in his endeavour.

Arthur wasn’t waiting for him. The room was empty.

Eames crept through the room, noting the perfectly made bed that he knew Arthur had done himself, and paused on the other side of the bathroom door. The shower was running but Arthur wasn’t singing. As far as Eames could make out, Arthur wasn’t actually in the shower; he could hear the telltale sounds of water hitting tiles. That made his mission ten times more dangerous than it had been previously.

Eames pulled his phone out, ready to Google the lyrics when Arthur finally did begin to sing. He was much closer this time so it would be easy to pick out words to type in. Hopefully it eased the burning curiosity of what Arthur had been singing.

Other than figuring out what song Arthur had been belting out the previous evening, Eames had no plan. He certainly didn’t have a plan for Arthur opening the door, a single brow lifted in amusement as he stared at Eames crouching on the carpet.

“Can I help you?” Arthur asked, perfectly composed with a towel slung low over his hips.

Eames swallowed, unsure where to settle his eyes. There were so many things to look at: Arthur’s bare chest, the towel, Arthur’s wonderfully muscled forearms, the towel, Arthur’s dimpled cheeks, the towel… 

“Eames, my face is up here,” Arthur said, clicking his fingers and successfully dragging Eames’ gaze from the towel that looked as though it was going to slip off at any moment. “Is there something you needed?”

Eames shook his head, standing slowly and slipping his phone into his trousers pocket. He’d been a fool for thinking he could get away with this. Arthur was the best point man in the business, he had probably already known Eames’ plan before Eames knew it.

“Perhaps I should ask if there’s something you  _ want _ , then,” he said, his tone of voice clearly indicating that it wasn’t a question and he in fact already knew what Eames wanted.

“Fuck.”

“That's one way of putting it, I suppose.” Arthur smirked, his cheeks deviously dimpled. He should have seen it coming, should have known what would happen if he tried to play games with Arthur. He was so utterly fucked. “I should ask, though, if I'm reading this wrong and you haven't snuck into my room to try and see me naked?” He raised a brow, daring Eames to contradict him.

“Actually—”

“Oh fuck off, then.”

Eames opened his mouth then closed it then opened it again. Everything was going wrong. “You sing in the shower,” he blurted, unwilling to leave the room without revealing the information he already knew. Though, it didn't seem like the best idea when Arthur's brows drew together, his dimples disappearing.

“How do you know?”

“Thin walls,” Eames said with a shrug, trying to will Arthur not to ask any more questions. Eames didn't really want to get into the details of him holding a glass to the door. It didn't seem necessary.

“And you thought you would, what, get a private show?” Arthur asked, folding his arms, covering his hairless, muscled chest.

“Not exactly.”

“Care to elaborate, then?”

It didn't seem like a question though the inflection certainly made it sound as though was supposed to be one.

“I wanted to know what you've been singing,” Eames admitted, dropping his gaze to the floor.

“You could have just asked. You realise that, right?”

“Well... No.” Eames smiled at Arthur. The thought of bringing up his singing in the shower at one of their meetings just seemed ridiculous, even worse than breaking into his hotel room. “I had hoped to find out what you were singing and let it drop.”

“But…? There is clearly a but at the end of that sentence.”

“But you opened the door and—” Eames waved his hand at Arthur in all his glory, covered by a towel that really looked like it was going to drop at any second.

“That changed your plans?”

“Quite a bit, rather.”

“Really?”

Eames nodded, cheeks heating under Arthur's intense scrutiny.

“Why?”

“Have you looked at yourself? You're bloody gorgeous and don't tell me you came out in a towel by coincidence.”

“No, not exactly. How's your singing voice?”

“Not too bad, I guess.”

Arthur grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him in.

“What are we singing?” It seemed like the most important question to focus on rather than how Arthur was testing the water temperature or tugging at his towel, letting it pool at his feet.

“Backstreet Boys.”

“You are so lame,” Eames groaned, dragging a hand through his hair.

“Yeah? You won’t mind so much when I’m on my knees.”

Eames swallowed and undressed, leaving everything where it fell in favour of getting in with Arthur faster.

“You're singing back up.”


End file.
